Correspondants
by Pumadelic
Summary: Djaq is widowed and coming to Nottingham for her daughter's wedding to a young Englishman. She is counting on a new lease of life,eager to reunite with the old gang, especially a certain blue-eyed conman turned tavern owner. How will post-crusade England welcome the Saracen Physician and who is hoping to make her stay permanent?
1. Chapter 1

**Corresponding**

**Chapter One**

_Dear Allan,_

_You will receive this letter by courier. It is not as fast as the pigeon but Hasan is reliable. I hope it finds you well. _

_Your last letter reached me three months ago. I cannot say how sorry I am to hear that Miriam is back with her husband. I did not realise that you were not officially married. It cheers me to hear that you seem philosophical and I am scarcely surprised to hear that you are not short of female company. It is wonderful, too, that you and young Liza will maintain your relationship. You have been a true father to her for so many years and I'm sure she knows that._

_The storyteller nights at your tavern sound wonderful. Singing too. I trust you have not invited our beloved Earl of Bonchurch to perform? Perhaps he could contribute some lyrics?_

_Now to my news. It is very exciting. Yasmina is in England, in York. Last year, she met a young English physician named Matthew. He was volunteering his services in Acre as his family has associations with the Holy Land. She is madly in love and they are engaged. I thought at first that, at eighteen, she is much too young and might be making a mistake. I wished Will were alive to talk her out of it, as I am sure he would have wanted her to wait. But she convinced me. He is a good man, highly intelligent, with strong ideals and a fierce integrity. He is rather shy and extremely talented at his work. Is this starting to remind you of anyone? I believe she saw a good deal of her father in him yet I realise she loves him for his own sake, genuinely. England has always attracted her and she is more than prepared to make a home there. Perhaps she does not yet understand how it can be challenging to transplant yourself. Of course, Yasmina does not fear challenges._

_So, I am coming to England. They will not be able to marry for at least six months to a year. Matthew must re-establish his practice back in York. For myself, I am not planning to stay with them. Yes, I will be in Nottingham by July! I have already arranged lodgings and am looking into opening an apothecary's shop. It is important that I am occupied. I will send a message on when I am much nearer._

_Dearest Allan, thank you so much for what you wrote about Will in your last letter. Sometimes I can't believe it has been three years. The pain is not as intense. The absurd injustice of a man like Will being taken so young cannot destroy the beauty he left behind. I often think about how lucky I was to have had such a marriage...it was not perfect, not without conflict. You know about our tempers, our stubbornness. But the conflict was never petty and he was such a loving man._

_Its thanks to Will that I can also admit how lucky I have been in my friends. Bassam says hello. You were always his favourite among the gang, you know. I feel strangely that this trip is coming at the right time, that it is fated._

_Naturally I will understand that you will be very busy running the tavern so you must not feel you have to shepherd me around too much...after all, it is a homecoming of sorts, even if I won't be sleeping in the forest with dirty, smelly, snoring men. I have sent letters to Robin and Much. You say you haven't heard from John in a while. I do hope all is well with him and Little Little John._

_The prospect of seeing you all makes me smile._

_With love_

_Enshallah, Keep your end up_

_Djaq_

_By the way, Jasmina says she will visit. She wants to talk to you about something. She wouldn't tell me..!_

Allan stroked the letter and folded it carefully, locking it in his wooden treasure box in the tavern's small office. His ex partner, Miriam had taught him to read several years ago and ,w hile he had complained at the time, he had to admit it was much more of a thrill than he thought..not quite as good as gaming, but being able to stick his nose into a new world of information, expressing the A Dale point of view in black ink for the select few..yes, it was great.

How like Djaq to declare her independence by telling him he needn't bother showing her around. In a pig's ear. He could feel a huge grin spread from ear to ear. Much performing at the Tavern talent night to a chorus of dripping vegetable missiles. He could actually see it. He wondered what was on Jamina's mind. She was a forthright, assertive young lass with a salty tongue and Allan enjoyed her company tremendously. On the last few occasions when they'd met, he had caught her watching him as he exchanged banter with Djaq. She always smiled at him as if to say she could see right through him. Like mother, like daughter. Allan leaned back in his easy chair. Will had designed it with what he called Allan's 'lazy bones moments' in mind.

He clicked his tongue at himself. Miriam had been gone for over a year and he had fallen into an affair with a feisty clever fifty something widow, Beatrice. They met now and then, at her instigation as she did not wish for another live-in-partner, having had too long and too happy a marriage and being too occupied with her grandchildren and her studies. They were good friends as much as lovers. He had not felt that anything was missing in his life yet the thought of Djaq coming to stay filled him with irrepressible excitement.

He'd been devastated by Will's death, made the disruptive trip to Acre to get to the funeral as the sole representative of the gang who did not have a pregnant partner or very young children to look after. Djaq had tried to be so brave but on the last day she'd held onto him as if she didn't want to let go. The truth was, he hadn't wanted to leave her either. If he really considered it, it was on his return that things had started to cool between Miriam and himself. A sense of distance in a relationship that had always been affectionate and companiable if not passionate. When she left, she had commented wrily: "Allan, neither of us deserves to be second best and that's what we've always been to each other, don't you think?" Her dead husband had proved to be Lazarus, not so dead after all. He had been angry and bewildered. He thought he had loved Miriam in a genuine, grown-up manner, but, although he had been lonely, felt resentful and rejected, he was not heartbroken by her departure. He wasn't quite sure what she meant by the second best remark . Well, if he'd ever neglected his partner, in true careless A Dale style, he wasn't about to repeat the mistake with the best friend he'd ever had.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 **

Jasmina Scarlett surveyed her new lodgings sceptically. The house could do with her father's touch with wood but the landlady, Mrs Cooper, kept everything clean enough. She would have preferred to live openly with Matthew but he was concerned for her reputation. She supposed he was right. Her mother's rebelliousness and unconventionality had mingled with her father's idealism to produce a remarkably single-minded individual. Yasmina did not care to please the crowd but she would rather die than hurt a loved one. Her mother was the most stubborn woman she knew, apart from herself, and Yasmina feared that her plans for Djaq's happiness would meet with obstinate incomprehension if she broached them directly. But him, she could tell. That rough-accented, long-lashed , tavern-running, fast talking charmer – the man whom, when introduced to her at age five, she had grabbed by the nose and proposed marriage to. "I'm not good nuff for you, Princess." He'd purred. "You 'ave to wait for a real Prince, darlin'. 'eel come." She would tell him what her father had said just a few days before he died. Maybe that would help them both sort out Sherwood from the trees.

Djaq had fretted over the letter to Allan. She was longing to see him but the last thing she wanted to be was a burden, even if he only had an adopted daughter and a tavern to claim his attention. She had put in an offer for a freehold on an empty shop that she could turn into an apothecary; the cottage next door would accommodate her well enough. She wanted to settle in Nottingham. Robin would be sure to offer assistance in the way of throwing noble clientele her way for the money, but she was more interested in the influence he still had over the ordinary people, those she most wanted to treat. She was determined to be supportive to Yasmina. The girl must never feel worried about her. After Will's death, there had been a steady trickle of older Muslim men who wished to take care of her. Very courteously, she had conveyed the message that she could take care of herself. But, without Will, and without her daughter, Acre no longer felt like home. England was the place for her now. As the widow of a respected Englishman, a member of Robin's gang, an ex-gang member herself, she would have a certain status. She would also be an oddity, and there would be prejudice, but, if she was honest, she had always felt an outsider in her own country in some respects and the social disapproval of the ignorant did not matter.

There had been so much trauma before the mourning. She needed to break free, and she could not do that in the house she had shared with Will.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

After three months of travel, Djaq had arrived in Nottingham. She had decided to wear an English style tunic dress for the journey and it clearly met with her landlady's approval. Mrs Cheadle ran a respectable boarding house and she'd been informed that Mrs Scarlett,while a Saracen and a foreigner, was quite an educated lady..and a former freedom fighter at that, Robin Hood's legendary physician. She very much wanted to ask if she could recommend something for the knee that troubled her so much but the poor woman must be exhausted, coming all that distance. Mrs Cheadle, almost curtseying, showed Djaq her best room and asked if she would like supper.

Djaq dined with the good lady herself and her teenaged daughter, who asked several naive but not offensive questions about the customs of the Holy Land. The chicken stew was delicious and Djaq couldn't repress a smile when she remembered Much's squirrel messes.

" I am going to say hello to a friend of mine at The Mercury Tavern."

Mrs Cheadle frowned slightly. She was shocked. Surely these Saracens didn't drink? "You want to go to the tavern? Now?"

"To see the owner. Mr Allan A Dale. He is a good friend of mine and of my late husband. As you know, we all worked with Robin Locksley.."

"Course you did, yes, I was forgetting, he was..I forgot"

Lottie, the daughter, said, blushing, "Say hello to Allan for me..."

Djaq was amused. So he was still having that effect on impressionable teenage girls.

"That's Mr A Dale to you, lass and I don't know why he's started doing room and lodging..he makes enough with all them boozers..oh, sorry, Mrs Scarlett, it's just.."

Djaq maintained a straight face. "Don't worry, Mrs Cheadle: I'm sure Mr A Dale would himself admit that he couldn't compete with your hospitality. That was a truly wonderful meal."

The landlady was mollified. "I'll have my boy walk you over there."

Djaq realised it would look churlish to refuse.

When he'd got her note, he'd gone into a kind of quiet frenzy. He hired four extra cleaners to make the Mercury shine like glass, went to the barber and bought three new tunic shirts in his favourite shade of blue. He stocked up on herbs to make tea and had his cook invent some new non alcoholic drinks with ginger and elderflower. He even did a deal with a merchant to get a copy of a famous herbal by some fifth century smartarse called Platonicus.

Allan's staff regarded each other knowingly. The barmaids sighed. So that was it. The were all agog to see the woman who could induce such behaviour in their usually laidback boss. When Allan calmed down enough to notice the looks he was getting, he attempted to laugh it off. "She's the best man in Robin's gang. . Show the Saracen what we made of..They're fussy about housekeeping in the Holy Land, you know. Got to keep our standards up. English pride, innit?"

As Allan had never before uttered one single patriotic sentiment in their hearing, unless it was to open the wallet of a punter, nobody was fooled for a minute but it made him feel marginally less foolish. Still the bit about keeping up standards was true. He always had the staff clean before a visit from Robin although he didn't bother for Much, who would never admit to being impressed by a tavern in the first place. John had visited once or twice, tried the ale, the stew and summed up with: "The Mercury, I like." Which had gratified Allan immensely.

Mrs Cheadles' boy, shy and pimply, left her at the tavern door. Djaq gave him a coin which made his eyes bulge with shocked gratitude. She regarded the sign: a picture of the winged messenger with a cheeky grin. The noise levels coming from the interior were considerable but it was not raucous. Djaq took a deep breath and opened the door.

Conversation did not exactly stop but it certainly dimmed somewhat as the petite Saracen woman with the expressive brown eyes moved hesitantly through the room.

Allan was chatting to a genial regular, Timmy Moss, a canny farmer who had contributed quality lamb to the Mercury's well appreciated hotpot. Alert as ever, Allan sensed the slight change in atmosphere, the temporary fading of Tavern noise, and looked up.

Djaq. In the Mercury, gazing around her with a faintly bemused but assessing smile on her face. She looked dignified, if a little nervous. Alone. Allan knew he was probably grinning like a madman in a trance but he didn't give a monkey's. He took in the shimmering purple tunic dress, the elegant black earrings, the long curling hair. He noted with tenderness the shadows under her eyes and her expectant, deer-like tension. How like her to stride into a tavern at this time of night completely unaccompanied. Her eyes were on the array of decorative flagons and kettles hanging over the bar. Her back was to him.

Allan walked up to her and tapped her lightly on the shoulder. "Not bein' funny, madam, but ladies on their lonesome have a habit of bein' accosted by lowlives in taverns..."

She jerked round and, before, she had a chance to protest, he had lifted her straight off her feet and spun her about, his arms tight around her waist.

"Allan..All-lan! Put me down right now..everyone will be looking."

He lowered her gently, resisting the temptation to squeeze her waist.

"They were looking as soon as you walked in, Djaq. Never been so quiet in here." He turned around and made a commanding, _Shows Over_ type gesture at the throng. They all went back to their conversations and their card games.

"Don't I get a kiss, Djaqie?"

She leaned up; he bent down and he received a chaste peck on the cheek that left a soft, tingling impression.

He took her hand and rubbed the fingers.

"Are you hungry, sweetheart?"

"I ate at Mrs Cheadle's, thank you."

"Oh, that old broomstick!"

"Your competitor for board and lodging?" Djaq queried satirically. She was trying to regain her composure.

"Hah! Well, you wouldn't go to 'er for entertainment, that's for sure. Your room comfortable if.."

"It's fine, Allan. By the way.." she arched an eyebrow. "Lottie says hello."

Allan smiled. "She's alright, Lottie."

"She certainly likes you."

"Nah – that bible bashing mum of hers needs to watch it. She'll run off with the first young rascal who spins her a line if she doesn't give 'er a bit more freedom."

Djaq pinched his cheek. "And you would know.."

"Yes, I would. I'm always telling Liza – actions speak louder than words, my girl."

Allan, the protective father. Somehow she'd always suspected he'd dote on a girl, in spite of all his barbs at the feminine gender.

"When did you arrive, Djaqie?"

"Three hours ago."

She'd come straight to see him after her supper. After what must have been many months of travelling. Allan felt his heart expand

then contract almost painfully in his chest.

"Come, Djaqie, you can relax in my office- it's got this great chair that.." He stopped, wanting to kick himself.

"I'd love to sit in that, thank you, Allan, " she said gently. He grabbed her hand and pulled her through a curtained door behind the bar. The office was a compact, cosy well-furnished room. There was a picture of a stealthy man- a poacher? – aiming at an unsuspecting deer on the wall and an elaborate brass lamp on the central desk. He offered the herb tea and she accepted. Djaq was a little surprised that he took a mug himself when the barmaid brought in the tray. The sturdy, red-haired girl glanced at Djaq curiously but she knew better than to hang around and gawp, not in Mr A Dale's private space so she asked,

" Will you need anything else, sir?"

"We're set now, Bessie. Thanks."

"So," he started when the girl had departed. Allan was struggling with the intensity of his happiness: often that meant a barrage of quipping but he wanted, no, needed his first conversation with her to be direct and genuine.

"Dunno where to start..when I got your letter, I was gobsmacked."

Djaq nodded. "It just seemed like the right thing to do."

He hesitated. The next question was important but he had to sound neutral when he asked it.

"So this shop..it's temporary? Are you planning to go back to Acre at some point after the wedding?"

She shook her head. "I want to settle in Nottingham. Remember when I joined the gang: not just for dinner, for good."

"And you want to waste your amazing healing powers on all these ignorant, diseased, insanitary Nottingham peasants..."

Djaq tutted. "Whoever needs my help...and a few nobles too. So, how are Robin, Much and John. Our Lord of Huntingdon is not a good letter writer, and Eve writes for Much..and John still cannot write..?

"Oh, Robin is very well. Kate swears she won't 'ave any more kids, an she's started making pots again. He goes down to London to sit an' consult with the King, advise him on how the people think 'an all. Every time old brother of lion ticker gives a rousing speech, I think

Robin probably wrote that down for 'im!"

"You never thought much of any King, did you Allan?"

He shrugged.

"Much?"

"Busy, busy..his daughters run rings around 'im of course. Right little madams they'd be if Eve wasn't quite firm. E doesn't complain as much as 'e used to. Still in love with Robin though. My master...Perverted it is."

Djaq grinned.

"And where is John?"

"Well 'e just goes wandering off from time to time..if 'es not back in another six months, I'd start to worry."

"He does see Little Little John?"

"Oh, yeah- 'e even stays with him for 'Oly days an such." Allan hesitated. "Actually..Alice died..a fever. I didn't want to tell you in a letter. Sorry. I 'ope that wasn't wrong."

Djaq felt a little tearful. Poor John. He would never have been able to move on and love someone else: whether through depth of passion or guilt, she wasn't sure.

"No, it wasn't wrong."

"Do you like the tea?"

"Yes – extremely good. Fresh mint is a Saracen favourite."

He looked pleased.

She was studying him quizzically. "And you Allan? How are you really?"

"I'm fine, Djaqie. Really." He gave her his best roguish grin, completely forgetting it had never fooled her.

"How does Liza feel about the break up?"

"He isn't 'er Dad, Djaq..Miriam's first husband died in an accident. So as far as Liza's concerned, I'm 'er real dad. She's 'ere every other weekend and for all the 'Oly Days too." It was evident he didn't want to discuss Miriam herself.

"You said you had..company?"

"A widow. She doesn't want to marry again but we get on well."

Djaq felt her stomach clutch. "Do you love her, Allan?"

He avoided her eyes, a little embarrassed, but far less evasive than the Allan of Sherwood had been.

"We're fond with each other...are you shocked, Djaqie? I respect 'er: she's my friend. Nobody could take the place of Rachel's husband and I'm not the one to try."

She did feel a little surprised that Allan could sound so philosophical at being second in line to a dead man. He surely did not feel that attached to this woman.

"I think you are a bit shocked..I suppose you couldn't imagine, after.." He stopped again before his foot got wedged even further into his mouth.

"Sorry, Djaqie, love: still a bleedin' idiot, me."

She shook her head, reached out and touched his cheek.

"There have been a few men who wanted..Saracens. I..could not be interested in them, although they were good men."

Allan said sadly, almost wistfully. " You gotta look after yourself first an Yasmina. You told me you were feelin a little better..was that true? I mean you didn't come 'ere just because you couldn't .."

He looked at her .

"Because it was too painful to be there? Not exactly. I want to move on, start afresh. It feels right to be here, it really does."

She was moved by his seriousness. She knew that Allan had missed them both hugely when they had stayed behind in Acre, that he had loved Will like a brother. They were the family he'd always wanted.

"Anyway- I was daft to even suggest it. You're no escape artist..bravest woman I know, you are."

He was favouring her with his real smile, shyer than the phony one and a gaze of frank appreciation that almost made her catch her breath.

How did it happen every time, that she forgot the impact of being eye to eye with Allan until she was in his physical presence. She fought an urge to jump into his lap and curl up like a cat that wants to be petted. The journey must have made her light-headed.

Sensing an awkwardness, he said, "Yasmina beat you down, eh?"

"Stubborn wilful girl."

"Chip off Mummy's block then."

"If you say so."

"I do." Allan was studying his hands and pulled out a splinter. Djaq followed his scrutiny. He had the most beautiful long fingers, ideal for a pickpocket. Not talented in Will's sense but...she shook herself.

" I really am a little tired now.." She yawned, hoping it wasn't too theatrical.

Allan blinked. He'd just had a flash, an image of Djaq following him upstairs and climbing into bed with him. For crying out loud, what kind of disgusting individual was he, leching after his best mate's widow. Ok, so he'd always fancied Djaq like crazy but that was really no excuse. She undoubtedly loved him like a friend and she needed a friend, not that tawdry seducer of old, saliva dribbling, grope-happy twerp of a male –the kind he constantly warned Liza against.

"Allan..walk back with me?"

"Right-o." He grabbed a leather jacket with buckles. Djaq had also forgotton how well he looked in leather and she looked away, disturbed by her response.

"By the way, Djaqie..what's all this nonsense about me being too busy to show you around."

He stood with his hands on his hips, cocking his head in an affectionate challenge.

"Cos I'm gonna show you around, alright? You'll be sick of the sight of me..yeh, you'll actually have to puke on me to shake me off...Women..

"Do not finish that sentence Allan!"

"are gorgeous, miraculous, saintly creatures come down from heaven to bless us, " he completed.

He offered his arm. "Milady? We shall exit through the back door as one does not wish for the peasants to be gawking at us and displaying their rotten teeth."

They walked arm in arm to Mrs Cheadles, and Allan dropped the lightest of kisses on her forehead as she went in.

Nobody in the boarding house appeared to be up and about. Djaq went directly to her room and undressed. She was feeling a little giddy, light-hearted, twenty years younger. Allan would teach her to laugh properly again: he'd always brought out her playful side. She had always been a survivor, but now she wanted to live.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Allan strolled back to the Mercury whistling a little tune. He was going to take charge of Djaq's stay – without letting the headstrong woman know it, naturally – make sure she got the best deal on buying the apothecary shop and he'd be sending her so many clients, she'd beg him to stop. God knows, the tavern's patrons had their fair share of aches, pains and mishaps. She could even be the official tavern physician..on call for those cases of near brain death, and sudden, ale-induced limb breakages. Perhaps that was taking it a bit too far.

When he re-entered the main bar area, he became aware of a number of searching glances. The older ones knew who Djaq was but the younger drinkers were boldly prurient. Allan showed his trickster mettle. "Anyone for a round of cards, then?" There was a dash for the exit and much unconscious clutching of wallets. He smirked. He never even cheated any more..well, not much, and he could still clean he best of them out after a few deals. It was nearly closing time so he wouldn't be losing money. Chuckling quietly, he went to help his staff with the nightly clean up.

Bessie, sizing up her boss' demeanour, came to a conclusion. This woman was very important to him. He was generally easy going if a little sarcastic in the tongue. Not that he didn't notice every tiny detail of how you did your work and he was capable of rewarding the grafters. Tonight, he was positively glowing with an almost dreamy geniality. They said she was his best friend's widow. Well, that was an interesting situation. She wanted to see how it developed.

The following morning, Djaq received a note from Allan telling that his step-daughter was staying with him for the weekend. Would she like to dine with them on Sunday night?

Djaq sent back a note to accept the invitation, feeling a certain trepidation. Now she was busying herself with composing a letter to Much and Eve. Much's reading was still rather limited so his wife would be the main recipient and interpreter of her news. Djaq had been a little suspicious of Eve at first. Soon she realised that Much had genuinely won her heart, partly because of that quality of childlike innocence he had never quite lost in spite of so many traumatic experiences. She was halfway through a humorous description of her meeting with Allan when there was a frantic knocking at her door. She opened it to greet a highly flustered Mrs Cheadle.

"Oh, Mrs Scarlett, its..oh, I can hardly believe it, he's never been here before, he's here to see you..oh."

Djaq smiled patiently. She didn't think she would relish staying too long under this woman's roof but, if she was to make a success of the shop, she must learn to deal with such vagaries.

"Yes, Mrs Cheadle: who has come to see me?"

"Lord Huntingdon himself!"

The poor woman was sweating in her excitement. News travelled fast. Djaq was touched. Robin was always so busy.

"Thank you so much, Mrs Cheadle. Can you tell him I will be down in a minute?"

The good lady bobbed up and down and scurried down the stairs like a mouse after a particularly tasty wedge of cheese. Djaq went to her trunk and took out four smallish packages and a tiny glass vial. She descended the stairs.

Robin had the same twinkling smile of old, was handsome as ever, but Djaq could see he had aged, was not quite as lithe. He embraced her warmly.

"So happy to see you, Djaq – and congratulations on Jasmina's news."

"Thank you, Robin. It is wonderful to see you again too."

"I trust he is deserving..even by your high standards?"

Djaq's smile was wry. "He is a fine young man. Will would have liked him."

Robin pressed her hand with that ready empathy which had made him so popular with his people.

"I can't tell you how sorry I was that I couldn't be there.."

Djaq shook her head. "The original plan was to bury Will in Sherwood but it was not possible. I completely understand. How are your children?"

"They are doing very well."

"And Kate?"

"She is fine. In fact, I was nearly forgetting..she asked me to give you this." He rummaged in a small sack on the breakfast table and retrieved a clay lamp. It was rather oriental in shape and had been decorated with Arabic lettering; Robin's favourite quote from the Qu'ran.

"She copied the letters. She wanted to make something specially for you."

Djaq had heard that Kate was often jealous of other women in Robin's life, even someone who was evidently just a friend. Allan had often dropped hints that he'd had a lucky escape. She was surprised and delighted by the gift.

"Tell her its lovely..I will treasure it."

Robin was watching her carefully. He hesitated slightly before saying:

"You know we had a memorial service, don't you? Well, we couldn't fit them all in the church. The pastor had to go outside and address everyone in the fields. From Clun, Nettlestone, all the villages and Nottingham too. Everyone wanted to pay tribute."

Djaq felt a treacherous moisture prick her eyes.

"And they will be glad to see you, you know."

She looked at him. There were many questions to be asked about the English feeling towards Saracens after the wars but now was not the appropriate time. Robin was always optimistic about the people just as Allan was habitually cynical.

Suddenly she remembered her own presents.

"Robin: these are for your girls: they are handmade dolls...with a twist...warrior dolls."

He laughed heartily.

"And for your boys I have some playsuits...very fine silk but it wears. This is Otto of Roses, a perfume..for Kate.

"Djaq, you shouldn't.."

"Yes, I should."

"Well, you must come to stay with us one weekend. We can discuss the plans you talked about in your letter. When are you meeting the owner of the building?"

" A fortnight, Monday ."

"Could you take Allan with you?"

Djaq's smile disappeared. "Robin, you know very well I can manage on my own."

"It's not for your sake, Djaq. Do me a favour, please. If he doesn't go with you, he'll drive us all crazy harping on about how you would have got a better deal if he'd been there. Humour him, I beg you...when are you seeing Allan anyway?"

"I already have."

Robin suppressed a smirk. Allan and Djaq. Djaq and Allan. No-one could ever have doubted the depth of her feelings for Will, but the ex poacher and thief, as different from the intense idealistic carpenter as night is from day, ran a very close second. And she'd been right in her judgement of him too. He'd come good in the end, and, a bit of card sharping aside, he'd stayed on the side of the angels. All Allan had ever wanted was a little slice of love, status and security, a place he could call his own, and all that resentment had melted from him as easily as snowflakes on a boiling kettle. Robin was fully aware of how he had failed to understand the A Dale mentality in the days of the gang whereas Djaq had seen through the unreliable surface to the man's true potential.

"What did you think of the Mercury?"

"He has done a wonderful job. It is obviously no church but the atmosphere is pleasant as are the staff."

Robin grinned. "He keeps the drunks and the staff in line – who would have thought?" He nodded at her ruefully.

"Alright, you would. He was never really happy as a follower, was he?"

"No, but you have to be ready to take responsibility to lead."

They fell silent, contemplating the change in Allan.

"So you agree to take him with you?"

"Oh yes. I expect I will also never hear the end of it if I don't."

"He cares about you."

Djaq nodded, pensive. She had questions for Robin.

"He told me his step-daughter is visiting this weekend. What happened? I thought they were happy together."

Robin shrugged. "It seems she was still enamoured of her second husband..whom she thought dead. And then the man just walks into the village after ten years absence..."

"How unlucky for Allan!"

"He seems to have got over it. He's a realist." Robin was actually pondering something Much had said. Allan thought he loved Kate, and he thought he loved Miriam, but he's only really ever loved Djaq. Much often had romantic and fanciful notions. Still, it was difficult to read Allan when it came to love. Unlike himself, Much and Will, or John even, he did not wear his heart on his sleeve.

"He's invited me to dinner with Liza on Sunday."

That brought Robin up short. Perhaps Much was really onto something,.

"What is she like?"

"Very clever girl. Sharp-witted but extremely shy. Allan says she is shy of me because of my ..well, you know, the hero thing. Physically she is rather buxom and freckled, and the boys tease her..not around Allan of course. I think she writes poetry. Which Mother does not encourage apparently."

"And Allan?"

"Oh, he thinks she's a genius. He's very sweet with her. It is perhaps a shame that he didn't get to have his own children. Fatherhood has brought something out in him."

Djaq did not feel surprised by this although she knew the rest of the gang might. She now felt even more apprehensive about this dinner.

Robin was on the way to a council meeting so he could only stay for another hour. They set a date for the weekend visit and he made her promise to contact him if she wanted to use his name as extra leverage in the shop negotiations.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Liza had just read her dad her latest poem. It was about a poacher stalking a deer, written especially for him and he listened attentively and with appreciation.

"That bit about the poacher's eye opening wide like a bow bein' drawn is really good, darlin'"

She looked at him adoringly. He always told her the bits he didn't like as well as the bits that were too flowery.

"Why can't poems be real?" he'd asked once. So she knew he was taking it seriously.

He was so gorgeous. If only he'd been her real dad, she'd have been gorgeous instead of pasty and freckled and fat. She had no memories of her biological father who had died while she was still a tiny baby and her mother's second husband was a hazy figure. She'd adjusted to the breakup once Miriam had agreed that Allan should have her every fortnight. Informally, they were not living that far away from the Mercury so she felt he was there if she really needed him.

Simon, her mother's second husband, was quite kind but she found him a bit boring. She thought Miriam was mad to leave Allan and she hated her for hurting him, but a year later, the dust had settled and her real and her adoptive parent were on friendly terms.

"Penny for your thoughts, pet?"

"Am I going to meet this friend of yours?"

"I take it you mean Djaq?"

She nodded, studying his face. He was a little nervous. Something was going on. Allan had told her many stories about the brave, remarkable Saracen physician who had married Will Scarlett. Liza had longed to travel to the Holy Land with him on his visits there but her mother had forbidden it. He was always very careful and very respectful whenever he talked about the Djaq of the present and full of hiliarious anecdotes about how she'd bested men as part of Robin's gang. Liza had loved hearing about this. Boys were her nemesis. She wouldn't mind dressing up as one, as Djaq had done, because then she could beat up a few, put them in their place.

"Well, I was thinkin of inviting 'er to dinner with us on Sunday but I wanted to ask you first; this is our weekend, pet, you know."

Allan squeezed her hand. Liza squinted up at him with her short-sighted, rather ethereal green eyes. She had a squashy nose, beautiful bow lips and the typical delicate complexion of the red-head. It was a quirky, memorable face, not conventionally pretty and Allan's heart bled for her insecurities. She made him regret every sarcastic remark he'd ever made about a girl's face or figure. He knew for a fact that one of the boys who teased her the most was trying to hide a crush but Liza didn't understand. For all her intelligence, she was very straightforward and mixed messages were too confusing for her to decode.

In fact she was so clever at book learning, she was practically regarded as a freak in Clun. Miriam, being a practical and modest woman, did not always know what to do with her outlandish daughter.

"She wants to be a scholar!" she'd complained to Allan. "Girls can't be scholars, can they?" Allan had thought of Djaq and his own prejudiced comments about female sheriffs.

Now he said. "You'll like Djaq, Liza. She knows a lot of Arabic poetry."

"Would she teach me medicine?"

Allan hadn't considered this. What would Miriam say?

"Er..well, maybe. I didn't know you were interested in that."

"I think it is an art too..healing that is. I'd love to meet her."

Allan smiled at her earnest expression. She was so much older than her years when she talked about books but her enthusiasm had a childlike innocence about it. He couldn't ever remember being that innocent, and the old Allan would have scoffed, not realising the value of such pure, optimistic feelings.

"Mum made me a new dress. Would you like to see it?"

"Of course."

She was gone fifteen minutes and when she descended the stairs, she was wearing an forest green tunic with silver embroidery. It was fitted to emphasise her waist. She really looked wonderful in it, elfin and curvaceous. Allan could imagine the boys' lustful comments and his fists clenched.

"That, my pet, is adorable. Your mother is a dab hand, I'll give her that. Do you like it yourself?"

"It's a bit...girly. And it makes my tits stick out."

"Don't talk like that Liza."

"Mum says you're a great fan of tits." Liza was smiling ruefully.

Allan sighed. _Thanks Miriam_. Liza's innocence had its limits. "Most men are pet. And you are definitely a girl. What's wrong with bein' a girl anyway?"

"I want to study. Not have people look at my tits."

"Let's forget about tits for a minute. Brings out the colour of your eyes..and your hair. It's...poetic that's what it is."

"You think so?"

"Yeah..a poetess would wear that. All you need is a lute."

She was delighted and rushed upstairs, shouting down.

"Shall I wear it on Sunday when your friend comes?"

"Yes, if you want, Liza, but you don't 'ave to dress up, you know. Djaq is very down to earth."

"I want to look pretty."

Women. So contradictory. And the two he loved the most were about to meet. This thought stopped Allan in his tracks. He desperately wanted Djaq and Liza to get on. Why? Liza worshipped Robin and Eve, thought Much sweet and silly and hated Kate. However bright she was, she was still just a fourteen year old girl. Djaq had had a teenage daughter so she'd understand. Why was he getting his longjohns in a twist about all this?

He knew why. He couldn't go on lying to himself and pretending that what he felt for Djaq was just a certain amount of lust (easy to admit to) mixed with nostalgic friendly affection. He loved her, knew her too well to romanticise her but he _loved_ her alright. Djaq had always seen through him, understood him, cared. He made her laugh: her spiky sarcastic humour kept him on his toes. But it was that mixture of vulnerability, compassion and pig-headed bravery in her, as well as her exotic looks, that he just couldn't resist. Her intelligence excited as often as it sometimes intimidated him.

In the forest he felt she had flirted with him as light relief from all the risks and dangers they were exposed to on a daily basis. He enjoyed the banter and was happy to play along. It wasn't like he wanted to get involved. But there had been a deeper bond between them too. After his brother's death, and Djaq's beautiful response, Allan, who never trusted anyone, would have trusted her with his life and that had changed everything for him.

He stomped on his nascent feelings soon after Will declared himself and he'd made of point of observing Djaq. He'd realised, as had Much, that she loved the shy young carpenter and he was surprised to feel both angry and jealous. One of his motives for dragging Will away to Scarborough had been pure jealous spite when he looked back on it: take Will away from her, seduce Will's aunt. Up yours, you snooty Saracen.

But when he'd returned after the betrayal, she'd been so tender and forgiving to him compared to the others. She believed in him once so she took his turnabout as genuine. On the boat, the feelings of love had returned . Then he saw her together with Will, saw how things had progressed and knew it was hopeless to waste his time dreaming about her. He stoically reminded himself of her faults, how she would drive him spare nagging him to improve himself and was able to count himself lucky .

He'd missed them both terribly once they were back in Sherwood. No Will to make blush and giggle with obscene jokes and no shared knowing glances between himself and Djaq. It must have been that hollow feeling that prompted that infatuation with Kate. Looking back on that, he was filled with bewilderment. She was basically sound as a person, honest enough, still he was astonished that Robin had married her. She was a good fighter and brave and all that. But she had none of Marion's grace, Djaq's incisive intelligence, maturity and compassion. He didn't even find Kate attractive anymore whereas Djaq...a grey hairs, wrinkles, and a few extra pounds only accentuated her loveliness.

No-one else made him feel as alive. On his first visit to Acre, Allan had an accident in a market, injured his wrist. Djaq had held him tightly while she bound it, and even with the pain, her musky spicy scent had aroused him. Then there was her voice. He'd always loved her accent, her intonations. He loved the way she stood, small and clenched, ready to take on the world. Lately he'd been having elaborate erotic dreams where Djaq dragged him into the forest and rolled around with him naked on a bed of leaves. He was probably going a bit mad. Fantasising about his best mate's widow, falling in love with someone who'd been a friend for twenty years.

Miriam had been so right to leave him. Any remaining resentment he'd harboured towards her was gone. She was with her genuine love now. He's cared for her, admired her, respected her and desired her but something crucial had always been missing. Who could he talk to about this? Rebecca, his lover, was a fountain of wisdom but, independent as she was, it was hardly appropriate to approach her with this. He'd rather die than tell any of the gang. Whatever happened, he mustn't make a nuisance of himself to Djaq and nobody must know. Except his staff had noticed. He'd been that bloody obvious. He groaned. And Liza? Oh god. Pull yourself together, A Dale. You don't do hysteria, remember. That's Much's role.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

The Sunday evening of the dinner with Alan and his step-daughter had arrived. It had been a typical October day, shards of low melony sun illuminating rooftops and cornices. Djaq spend the morning gathering herbs from the hedgerows and some time in the afternoon copying out of a large elaborate tome in Arabic. Her script was elegant but unembellished. She wrapped the parchment up with a ribbon of silk, adjusted her maroon tunic, and inspected herself in the mirror, thinking _ You have faced starvation, torture and death on numerous occasions. This is only a teenage girl._ Having smiled wryly at her own anxious image, she strode with determination down the half mile of the road and knocked firmly at the back entrance to the tavern.

Allan opened the door. He was wearing a deep blue tunic shirt. Djaq noticed it had his name embroidered somewhat haphazardly over the right pocket. Quick as ever, he caught the flicker of her eyes. His smile was proud.

'Liza did it. Her mother insists she learn to wield a needle but she ..'ow can I put it..she's not keen.'

He leaned forward and kissed Djaq lightly on the cheek.

'Come in, table's laid. We're 'aving venison wiv rosemary..an' some vegetables my cook said would please an Eastern Lady.'

He ushered her to a polished oak table which had been adorned with some chunky candles and a squat pottery mug of wildflowers.

'Lisa prefers wildflowers.'

Djaq nodded sagely. Beneath his usual jaunty manner, there was a hint of nerves. Was he worried that Liza would dislike her?

'And where is Liza?'

Allan tutted and rolled his eyes.

'Oh..you know girls, she's upstairs, fussin' over her dress. Say you admire it, please? 'Er mum made it and she does a good job, I'll say that for 'er.'

There was a sound of hesitant footstep at the top of the stairs.

Allan called out, with a comical eyebrow raise, 'Are you ready, sweet'eart – Djaq's 'ere.'

A young girl, pale, freckled, with elfin eyes and a prominent nose, appeared in the doorway. Djaq stood up and went over to greet her.

'Hello Liza. I've been looking forward to meeting you – and thank you for inviting me to dinner with you and your father.'

'Oh,' the girl breathed, a little awed by the Saracen woman's poise and gracious tone, 'You're welcome. I've always wanted to meet you and..' She bit her lip, blushing.

Djaq realised the poor girl had been about to mention Will.

'I've always wanted to meet all the gang – but especially you..'

She stopped again and looked at Allan.

'Liza would like to be an outlaw, wouldn't you, sweet'eart?'

'Yes..well I've never heard of anything more exciting..it was exciting, wasn't it?'

Djaq agreed that it was , especially when, no doubt, flavoured with Allan's hyperbolic narrative sauce.

She smiled. 'But you wouldn't get to wear such a beautiful dress in the forest. What a wonderful colour!'

Liza blushed again.

'Dad probably told you. I'm not much for dresses really but I do think this one is quite nice.'

'It's gorgeous,' Djaq reassured her.

Liza's lips formed into her awkward, sweet smile, and she went to sit next to Allan.

'You look beautiful , Dad.'

'Liza..can't you say, 'andsome, darlin': I am yer Dad, not yer Mum.'

His tone was affectionate in its reprimand.

'Don't you think he looks absolutely beautiful today..with that blue shirt and his eyes?'

Djaq did indeed think Allan looked well in the shirt and she was relieved to feel amused by his discomfort.

'Yeh, yeh: I'm gorgeous, me…now 'ow about dinner?. I won't keep my looks if I starve to death will I? '

Djaq fished in the small cotton bag she'd brought.

'Allan told me you like poetry so I would like to give you this.'

She extracted the parchment and handed it to Liza, who seemed amazed.

'Oh, what is it?'

'Say thank you, Lizzie.' Allan commanded.

'Thank you so much, Djaq – I didn't expect a gift.'

She removed the ribbon deftly and unrolled the parchment. The Arabic calligraphy fascinated her.

'It is a famous Arabic poem – I have translated it into English for you.'

Lisa was enthralled.

'Usually when I get presents I have to pretend to be pleased. My Aunt buys me all these girlie things..'

Allan was shaking his head.

'But this is wonderful. After dinner, will you read the Arabic to me?'

'My pleasure. I am not sure about the translation. I hear you are a poet, but I, unfortunately, am not. I did my best..'

Allan shot Djaq a furtive look full of warmth, admiration, respect and something else she could not quite fathom. It reminded her of when they had conjoined to befuddle poor Much but this was a much more benevolent conspiracy, involving truth rather than lies.

Allan's cook laid the venison stew and the accompanying roasted vegetables on the table, departing briskly. As they ate, Liza plied Djaq with questions about her time in the forest, with Allan occasionally chipping in with his own take on events. There was one troublesome moment when Gisbourne was mentioned. Djaq glanced anxiously at Allan.

'It's alright, Djaqie; Liza knows all about my betrayer phase. We don't 'ave secrets, do we pet?'

Liza looked grave. 'It must have been terrible for the rest of you. Daddy was so naughty then. Of course he had no example what with his father being so drunk half the time and beating him and Tom and his mother…'

'Ok, Lizzie, darlin'. That's all history now. Let's focus on the interesting stuff.'

Djaq was astonished at Allan's openness. She tried not to react to Liza's words. She'd always suspected that whatever family life Allan had experienced had been less than warm and loving but hearing it expressed thus, in the brutally naïve phrases of this child, left a tiny sharp slice of pain in her heart.

After tales of Sherwood, they progressed to Liza's trials at her village school. She expressed envy that Djaq had been educated by tutors at home.

'I want to be a scholar..and open my own school – one where girls can learn anything they like, not just sewing.'

Allan sighed. 'Bit 'over the 'eds of the folk round 'ere.'

Liza tutted. 'You should have faith in the potential of the people to progress – like Robin does.' She blushed scarlet at the mention of Lord Huntingdon's name.

After dinner, they went back to Allan's little sitting room and Djaq recited the poem first in Arabic then in English. Liza listened enraptured and Allan appeared equally transfixed, for different reasons perhaps. He sent Liza to bed at half past ten, ignoring her vehement protests.

'Please come to dinner again, Djaq. And let me know if I can help you in your apothecary shop.'

She kissed them both goodnight and ran up the stairs.

Allan sipped his wine, grinning like the proverbial cream-consuming feline.

'Oh, she loved you. I hope you realise she means it about the shop.'

'That is no problem. She is a very bright girl and I could probably use a helping hand now and then. As long as her mother agrees, naturally.'

'I'll take care of that. No worries.' He was studying Djaq intently.

'Did you know that the villagers plan to hold a welcome party for you on Saturday next?'

'I'd heard rumours. Mrs Cheadle is a born gossip.

'Are you pleased, Djaqie?'

She smiled. 'A little..well, very..surprised. Yes, I'm pleased.'

'There will be dancing.'

Djaq grimaced. She had never been enthusiastic about English dances.

Allan sounded almost hesitant.

'We..we could 'ave a few practice gos if you like..I'll show you some steps.'

'Agreed. Yes, why not. But only if we can have a friendly sword fight afterwards.'

He was amused out of his embarrassment. It was absolutely typical of her that she would wish to even the power balance after a potentially humiliating experience of being the ignorant student.

'Done.' He winked at her. 'Oh, yeh..another thing. You could wear a dress; you know, a real one.'

'As at the Count's gambling party?'

''Ow could we ever forget it?'

Djaq tilted her head.

'Hmm..I'll consider it.'

'And..if you do, all these peasant men will want to dance with you, outclassed as they are. So you promise to save a few for me, Djaqie?'

'I do not have your faith that such a promise is necessary but I do promise.'

She did not know whether it was the heat from the fire, or the intimate, teasing expression in Allan's eyes but she was feeling flushed, light-headed, almost dizzy and subtly excited.

He got up.

'Actually, I nearly forgot. I 'ave something for you.'

He fetched a jar from his desk drawer. It was a small gold glazed ceramic pot.

'Open that.'

Djaq took off the lid and inhaled the heady aroma of cinnamon, and ambergris.

'Mmm. ' She leant over to kiss Allan on the cheek and missed.

As soon as he felt her lips on his, he pulled away but kept her down on his lap, where she had fallen.

'Sorry, Allan.' Djaq was actually blushing. 'See how clumsy I am..I will be all over your feet if we dance.' She was trying desperately to ignore her increasing dizziness which had been caused by the accelerated heart rate which had been caused by…if only he would stop staring at her like that.

'Allan..why are you smiling like that? Are you drunk?'

He put one long finger up and flicked her nose lightly.

'Just tipsy. Maybe I enjoy you being clumsy. And you know what..I think you should only dance wiv' me at the party.'

Djaq snorted. 'Oh..and why is that?'

'Because you can't injure me..I know your moves.'

She smacked him lightly on the head.

'Still violent and unfeminine.'

'That is because you are ..what do they call it..manhandling me.'

Allan almost whispered, 'So why are you still on my lap?'

They stared at each other. He was more serious now. Djaq wondered whether the King would consider passing a law against men having eyes that could outburn the blue flame of certain chemicals.

She made a move and he restrained her gently.

'No, I think we should 'ave a little talk.'

'Allan you always want to talk.'

'Would you rather I did something else?'

Djaq wriggled a little and Allan sighed. She closed her eyes and spoke softly

'What are we doing?'

'We're flirting with each other. We always did that Djaqie. I'm sorry.. I don't mean to be disrespectful. But I don't think I can…Oh my God, woman. Will knew. He knew…Did he never tell you?'

Djaq wrenched herself off Allan's lap.

'I'm not trying to be insensitive. I don't know what to do. Oh, bugger..I'm a drunken idiot…I hope you like the spice perfume, you've made Liza very happy, you make me very happy, I'll walk you home now. '

He jumped up and reached for his jacket.

Djaq stood bewildered.

'It is alright, Allan. I am not offended. What did Will know?'

'I'm taking you home. It's getting late. People will talk.'

'Do you think that bothers me, Allan?'

'It would if you knew what they were saying about us.'

Her chin came up.

'And what are they saying?'

'The peasants are speculating that I'm trying to get you into my bed.'

Djaq stared at him. She quirked an eyebrow.

'Ignorant people always believe a man who shows interest in a woman wants to bed her. You've never cared that much about what the people thought before.'

He held her gaze, his face reddening slightly.

'Will knew. Yamina knows. Liza's guessed. Even bloody Much knows. Everyone knows except you, Djaq.'

Djaq sat down again.

'So if everyone knows why can't you tell me?'

'Because you won't believe me..you'll think it is the Allan a Dale of old who spins the ladies a line..even you who trusted that I could be honest and go straight, you were the first person who ever trusted me, who ever really cared about me…you have no idea what a difference that made, you have no idea how extraordinary you are. You might think I could just be such an idiot as to lie to you…I would never have been able to run the Mercury, would never have got involved with Miriam, been a father to Liza. Without you. .I would have stayed the rest of my life feeling like a lowlife, the scum of the earth.I knew I wasn't good enough for you. I couldn't stand it. He was right for you, he was the better man. I'm sorry he died.'

'Allan..what are you rambling about? Are you ill?'

'Yes! It's a joke with my staff. I'm sick with love over you. I love you, I always 'ave. And you can sit on my lap and tease me and look like you want to kiss me but I know Icould never upset you like this. An now I 'ave. Shit, I'm drunk. I loved him too, I'd 'ate for anyone not to realise that.'

He dropped into his chair and put his head in his hands.

Djaq sat down, her head fuzzy with shock.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

The thin, ferret-faced teenager watched as the strawberry-blond tavern owner took leave of the Saracen woman at the doorway to Mrs Cheadle's boarding house. They had not said much to each other and there was no goodbye kiss. He would not have much to report to his paymasters. He hung back as the man started walking up the road to the tavern, his steps heavy and weary as though he was carrying a load. He waited half an hour and then walked past The Mercury: there was no sign of a candle in any of the windows. The man and his staff and the young girl must all be in bed.

He walked shivering further on until he reached the cross-roads where the woods thickened on the side of the road. Stopping to check he was alone, he put his fingers inside his mouth and gave a low whistle. A carriage emerged from the undergrowth. He climbed inside, where three men, all in their fifties, were seated. One was portly, one slender and one muscular but their features suggested kinship: hawklike noses, thin lips that seemed to rigidly set in place to ever smile and small intense grey eyes.

'Did they see you?' the portly man asked.

'No: they both seem distracted.'

The slender man did smile then, a bladelike flash of teeth.

'Are they lovers?'

The teenager answered, 'If they are, they've had an argument. It looked pretty awkward to me. But that A Dale bloke, he looked up at her window with a right soppy expression before he went home.'

Mr Muscular nodded. 'Hmm..no matter the exact truth of the situation, we can use it to discredit Robin Locksley: a scandal, an affair..most excellent.'

Portly added, with a certain relish, 'The Saracen infidel widow of one Englishman led astray by Locksley and now she is leading yet another Englishman away from his duty to his blood!'

The teenager dipped his head understandingly but he was actually just a boy from York, trying to raise money for an apprenticeship, had taken coin from these gentleman for a bit of simple spying and he had no idea what they really wanted. They seemed to hate Robin Hood, which was strange because he knew the Earl of Huntingdon was the people's hero back from the war days and he was still the stuff of myth and legend.

The muscular man continued, 'Locksley thinks he represents England – but look at his gang! A filthy poacher and thief, a has-been outlaw who abandoned his own wife and child, an ignorant unlettered carpenter, and worst of all, an immoral Saracen woman, a traitor to her gender, her own people…and now she has brought her half-breed daughter here set on spawning with another Englishman…'

There was a glow in his eyes and his face was flushed. The portly man reached out and patted his shoulder gingerly.

'Titus, calm yourself. There are many who think as we do. All we need is a little cunning and we will prevail. The people must be led but they will see the right of it in the end.'

Slender added, 'She may try to bribe them with lotions, potions, herbs and chemicals, but what is she but another witch, and a dirty, foreign, sluttish witch at that. The people only smile at her face because they are under Locksley's spell. We can break his charm. Listen to Matthew, Titus and be calm.'

Titus inclined his head. 'England is my passion. My love for her carries me away. Matthew, Peter, my brothers, forgive me!'

Peter bared his teeth in the sibling's uncanny approximation of a smile.

'Who will sort the current matter?'

Matthew, the portly brother, who was sitting next to the teenaged spy, said, 'That is I.'

He moved quickly, his hand jerked against the stomach of the teenager. He watched, satisfied as he slumped forward.

Titus commented, 'Wretched little peasant rat..there's a well not far off, disused.'

'Perfect,' Peter agreed.

The carriage rattled on, now holding only three breathing men.


End file.
